


Declarations of intent (and other things)

by Ejunkiet



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: End Game, F/M, Other, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, and shorts that span the Mass Effect series, and are <em>not</em> specifically related to the 'Reunion Series'. Mainly Shakarian, beginning with 'Declarations of intent', but with the occasional stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Declarations of Intent (Shakarian)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evil_Bunny_King](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Evil_Bunny_King).



> EBK (or Evil_Bunny_King) is the person who reads the many iterations of my stories. I adore her, and really need to give her that ao3 invite...

### Declarations of Intent

She had faced the animated carcass of a Spectre and fired the final shot; had set the explosions for the destruction of a ship that had sent her twisting and burning to the frozen surface of Alchera. She’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Engaging in a heart-to-heart about the depth of her feelings to a certain sharpshooter - and best friend - however, was another matter.

Another matter that was, in reality, so straightforward and simple, it shouldn't have taken her this long to confront it. And yet, three months had passed - just half of the time she had spent missing him, while she had been incarcerated back on Earth; his fatalistic humour, his easily offered support when she needed it - and they hadn’t talked.

She lowered her head into her hands, tugging at the strands of her hair fisted between her fingers, the tension that had been building within her chest during the past nine months clawing at her throat, and sending her heart rate racing. She could almost hear the reprimands of her old drill sergeant, the sharp bark layered with harsh tones of disappointment, a simple request:

_Shepard, is running from the problem really going to solve it?_

It’s a lesson she’s examined critically - as the stinging memories of Akuze can testify; and, taking the words from her lover, she doesn’t know what to do with shades of grey - but the truth of it rings painfully in her current situation, nonetheless.

Her grip tightens in her hair until her scalp aches _._ A vigorous shake of her head, and she is reaching for her omnitool, his last message flickering into existence on the hovering interface. A glance at the clock tells her she could reach the meeting point with a couple minutes change, enough to make herself _presentable._ She doesn't glance in the mirror as she passes through the short corridor between her cabin and the elevator, not wanting to be late, but also not wanting to see the mess she had made of it. Chances were, they’d be heading out, to someplace with a bar, and dual-chiral alcohol.

She taps at the holographic interface so that it takes her to the main deck, and considers her options. _Maybe she could say it then_. The idea of intoxication cheapens the notion somehow, though, and finally, she decides against it. It can wait for another day, another battle.

—-

When she finds herself atop the Citadel with a picnic basket filled with weaponry and his hands circling her waist, and he asks for commitment, she takes a moment to gather her thoughts. This is it; the opportunity that she had been watching - waiting - for, for months, and with a shallow breath and eyes trained to his, she explains herself, laying it all out. She doesn’t hold back, and saying it aloud, _finally,_ is a relief.

“I love you, Garrus Vakarian.”

His mandibles widen briefly, pausing, outstretched, before they are fluttering against his jaw, and he is fumbling with his words in response, fingers creeping closer around her waist. His stare is steady on hers, the intensity unwavering, and when she interrupts him with a smile, his grin is sudden, wide and infectious. And when he twists them, dipping her low, she laughs easily for the first time in months; and then he’s there, plates brushing against her carefully, tongues twining in a brief embrace, and it’s straightforward and simple, and she’s damn glad she didn’t wait.


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short addition to the previous drabble from Garrus' pov, end-game.

### Words

_I love you, too._

It had gone unsaid for more time than he liked thinking about. From him at least - she hasn’t had those inbred reservations, those boundaries that one did not cross with another person unless things like family-binding contracts were discussed - and despite the fact that the thing they had was, well, it _was_ , and he’d known it, and he liked to believe she’d known it, for a long time, he hadn’t been able to express it. To admit it to yourself was one thing - but aloud? Did they have the time? Would anything even come out of this, once they had left the pressures and stresses of war behind them?

At the threshold, the final hundred metres to the heart of the citadel and where this all began, in the red glare of Harbringer’s searching eye, his worries appeared petty and insignificant.

And in his cabin - her cabin- in the dim shadows that danced turquoise across the walls, where he lay waiting for exhaustion to take him, the thoughts pecked at him like carrion.

Would it have mattered if he’d had said it earlier?


	3. Propositions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ME2 throw-back, from the line: "there are other ways to treat stress, I guess."

### Propositions

For a human commander, Shepard had the most remarkable ability to throw Garrus Vakarian off-guard. Whilst most turians confronted with humans for the first time were thrown for a loop by the diverse and _strange_ customs their strange little blue planet spawned, he was _almost positive_ it was a special trait of Shepard's to knock him so off-course.  
  
Hell, she didn't even have to say anything for his thoughts to divert so completely from his intended focus that he'd forget what he'd even meant to talk about; and what had started simply as a chance for him to apologize for his near loss of control on the Citadel turned into a discussion of past tours with the military, and previous training sessions aboard Turian military ships.  
  
Finding himself trailing into silence, he finishes with a quiet cough, mandibles flexing in a weak smile with the statement; "there are other ways to treat stress... I guess."  
  
His eyes made contact with hers, only to break away barely a moment later, focusing aimlessly on the metal paneling above his workbench. His chest reverberates with an apologetic rumble that he quickly puts a stop to - he doubted she could hear it, and if she did, she wouldn't be able to understand it anyway. It was a shame.  A humming quiet maintained by the machines around them settled in the air between them, which felt suddenly quite a bit smaller and closer than it had ever felt before, making the loud sound of their breathing all the more obvious in the awkward silence.  
  
His weight shifted, his talons twitching in agitation, as he glances down at his fingers, clenched loosely into fists.  
  
_Calm it, Vakarian._  
  
Old emotions, long-passed excitement have rushed back with the memories, despite his attempts at closing them off, and it's clear his professional facade is crumbling. Maybe he should take his own advice, and cure this adolescent immaturity with some lap dances on Omega.  
  
When he glances back at her, he's unnerved to find that her eyes have gained an excited gleam, derailing his thoughts one again as she defies all of his expectations of how'd she'd respond to his indiscretions. Spirits.  
  
"Alright. Maybe we should try that."  
  
His heart stops, skipping a beat. It begins again after a short minute, taking on a punishing rhythm as it drums within the confines of his chest, on the verge of inducing an arrest. His subvocals strain on his response.  
  
"Really, Shepard? I think we've tried that, with our brawl between the guns of the main battery - you cheated, using biotics, and I scratched you. Humans are... soft, and 'squishy', as I believe Wrex used to put it." Eying the gleam of his commander's eye, he silently added: _and yet, you'll be the death of me_.  
  
"Easily resolved: I won't use biotics, and you'll wear gloves. Don't wuss out on me now, Vakarian. Meet me down in the shuttle bay. You have ten minutes."  
  
With a slap to his arm guard, she twists on her heel, striding to the threshold to the main gunnery and only pausing to cast one last look back, a wide grin inching across her features as she glances him up and down, taking stock of him from fringe to heel. "I expect one hell of a fight."


	4. The Not-Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or 'part two'. Drabble distraction from Fenris/Hawke project...

### The _not-date._

A short while later saw Garrus stripped to the waist and stretching within easy distance of the elevator doors in the cargo bay. It was impossible to keep his thoughts straight after the conversation upstairs; what _was_ he thinking? Not only that - what had she read from it, his not-so-subtle-yet-completely-unintentional invitation for sex?

And, spirits, with her response... at this point, he was more concerned about his _own_ reaction than hers. He hadn't immediately acted to clear up the misunderstanding, as soon as he had recognised exactly what his 'encounter' story could suggest. The fact that he was down here now - having raced from the battery after several unsuccessful minutes trying to unstick his mandibles from the floor - in his 'skins' was upsetting enough.  They wouldn't be able to spar like this. He had, somewhere, a set of padding meant _just_ for this purpose, but leaving to collect it would mean missing the time Shepard had set for their date.

Garrus paused, his spurs just brushing the floor with his low lunge, checking his thoughts.

_Not date._

Sparring session. That was much safer. Except... _that time_ , it had _been_ a sparring session-

The elevator doors whirred open, and almost - almost- tripping, Garrus straightened from his stretch and tried to rearrange his features into a mask of passivity - and damn it, the fact that she was smirking wasn't helping.


	5. Omake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, the turian view on deities has been rather fatalistic since the beginning of the space-flight era.”

### Omake

_“God…”_

“You know, the turian view on deities has been rather fatalistic since the beginning of the space-flight era.” His tone was light, mandibles lifting as he sent her a wry glance over the sheets that covered her most of her; and the sight of her flushed and breathless made him double his efforts to keep himself restrained, the motion of his fingers smooth. “If there is a _Mother_ up there, though, I’m sure even she’d be able to hear you.” 

His eyes wandered back to his target, and improvising on impulse, he increased the pressure _by just a bit_ , delighting in the small moan his actions elicited as he proved his point. She twitched beneath him and he glanced up to just about catch the dirty look she sent in his direction.

“ _Oh…_ just _shut up_ , Garrus… _Oh god_ , and whatever you do... _Don’t. Stop._ ”

“Commander.”

“ _Just shut up and-_ wait, EDI?”

“You have an incoming call from Joker, that has been marked urgent. Patching him through, in three, two-”

“Wait, don’t-"

" _One-_ "

The speakers crackled before the line established fully, and in that scant space of a few short seconds of silence, Garrus lowered his hands by an inch, smoothing his fingers along her skin, and although she was biting desperately at her lip, Shepard was unable to completely muffle her response.

“ _Aaaah!_ ”

“…Commander?”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Ah. EDI didn’t mention that I’d be interrupting something. This really isn’t all that important, I’ll just leave you be-”

“It’s fine, Joker. She’s free to chat.”

“Leave you and _Garrus_ be- you know what, just forget it, just forget it all together, as it really wasn’t important enough to disturb the two of you-”

 _“Garrus, you evil bastard._ It’s- it’s not what I know you’re thinking, Joker; Garrus was just-“

“Commander. I really, really don’t want to know.”

The call disconnected with a short _beep_ , and what sounded like a clattering of frantic hands against the console, and Garrus looked up from he had been carefully performing a muscle massage on her sole, captured foot, into the flushed and mortified expression of his commander.

“Now… where were we? Something about _gods?_ ”

“You will suffer for this, Vakarian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something old, moved around!


End file.
